


Hiatuses

by amythis



Category: 30 Rock
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 04:39:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13240629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amythis/pseuds/amythis
Summary: Sometimes love is all around yet inaccessible.  And sometimes you need to take a break to figure out how to go on.





	1. Close-Knit

"How will you make it on your own?..." I sing quietly along with the DVD, the first night of this first hiatus from _TGS._

I wait for the criticism of my singing voice, but Dennis is out of my life for good.

Instead I hear a murmured "This world is awfully big, Girl, this time you're all alone."

I smile over at Pete, who's helping me sort my yarn. He hasn't even questioned my plans to knit this summer, other than a "Don't you think it's kind of hot for that?"

Unlike Jack, Pete doesn't ridicule my attempts at self-improvement. He will be my reality check sometimes, like if infatuations or thirst for vengeance get out of hand, but mostly he's supportive, and has been for eleven years.

Sometimes I feel like he's my best girlfriend, rather than Jenna, who's so self-absorbed, except when she gives me terrible advice about men. I know she thinks I should be getting over Floyd by going to clubs and discotheques, but I think it's much healthier to have a staycation, and not just in terms of avoiding venereal disease.

Last week she said, "I just don't see how you can be happy being a hermit."

"I'm not a hermit. I have a roommate."

She rolled her eyes and said, "Pete," like he didn't count or maybe just as much as a cat would. As if Pete and I don't have intellectual discussions.

"Do you think if I threw my hat in the air, it would look as cool?"

"I think it'd be stolen before it hit the ground."

I frown. "Don't you start." I got enough of that anti-New-York talk when I was with Floyd. I guess he's happy in Cleveland now. We don't talk as much since we agreed to break up. I mean the official breakup after we accidentally broke up but I was distracted by Jack's heart attack. Yeah, Jack is doing better now. I was worried of course, but Pete says Jack is a survivor.

"Sorry. So what's this going to be? A scarf?"

"A blanket."

"Oh, good. I can use it this winter."

I wonder if he means that he'll still be sleeping on my couch then. It's already been a month and his wife shows no sign of forgiveness. I don't entirely blame her. I mean lying about getting a vasectomy is huge, especially when they've already got five kids.

She had a pregnancy scare, so he had to confess, and then she kicked him out. Even though her Aunt Flo paid a delayed visit, Paula is still pissed about the lying.

"Why didn't you just go through with it?" I asked him.

He shrugged and said, "Maybe Paula will change her mind later." Never mind that Paula is over 40 and their firstborn is older than Cerie. "Or maybe you'll change your mind about needing a sperm donor."

"Oo, gross!"

"I meant I'd masturbate in Dr. Spaceman's office."

"Just stop." 

So he stopped. I do want a baby, but not out of pity. And not right now, when I have to mother Jenna, Tracy, and most of the writers. Someday when my life is less crazy. And probably someday when I don't have a platonic roommate.

For awhile, we just watch a couple episodes of first season _Mary Tyler Moore,_ and I knit a bit and he sorts laundry. Why can't I ever have this kind of domesticity in my real relationships? Well, not that this isn't real, but it's a comfortable friendship. Except when we're stressing about the show, Pete is relaxing to be around. And even when we are stressing about the show, it's reassuring to have someone to share the madness with.

He lived here all through my brief but intense relationship with Floyd. He was of course the one to tell me I shouldn't pretend to be an alcoholic in order to spend time with Floyd. Jenna wouldn't, since she always lies to men, including about such basics as age, weight, and natural hair color. I felt like lying about bad things about myself wasn't as, well, bad. When Jack heard, he thought it was just pathetic.

But Pete? "Floyd is going to find out and he'll be furious!"

"How? Am I going to get him pregnant?"

OK, so I'm not always great at comebacks, but it still stung, especially since it was before Paula was surfing the crimson wave again.

Pete scowled and said, "It was bad enough when you fired his girlfriend and then had Jack transfer her to avoid a lawsuit."

"Hey, I only fired her. The transfer was a promotion and Jack's idea."

Jack will sometimes do sweet favors for me like that. Jenna thinks Jack wants me, but I've told her that he's repeatedly made it clear I'm not his type.

"If he wanted me, why would he clear my path to Flower Guy?" (I didn't know Floyd's name during that conversation, but I had accidentally received his girlfriend's Valentine bouquet.)

"Three-dimensional chess, Liz. Jack wants you to date other men and realize no one can compete with him. Well, no one you could get."

"What makes you think I can get Jack? Not that I want him."

"It's obvious. He chose you to mentor rather than Kenneth or Tracy or Frank."

"Those are the choices?"

"Well, he wouldn't choose Pete. Pete is bald. And Toofer is black. And a Harvard man."

"Jenna, I don't see how this proves Jack Donaghy's lust for me."

"Well, the most obvious reason is that he picked you to go to Prince Gerhardt's birthday, when I would've been thrilled to go."

"Yeah, but you went anyway. And managed to induce a fatal heart attack that ended the Hapsburg line."

"I know, and I regret that. If only it'd happened on our wedding night. I'd be a dowager princess now, very chic. Or maybe he could've gotten me pregnant. It'd be worth getting fat to give birth to royalty. Tracy couldn't compete with that!"

She was distracted from her "Jack slash Liz shipping," as she calls it. I did run the idea (about Jack, not about Jenna continuing the Hapsburg line) by Pete later, since he is the most sensible person I know, vasectomy aside.

I shut my office door so the writers couldn't hear and I said, "Um, Pete, do you think Jack likes me?"

"Well, he hasn't fired you yet."

"No, I mean likes me, as more than a friend."

"Do you want me to pass him your note in study hall?"

"I don't think kids do that anymore. I think they just text and IM."

"Aren't those the same thing?"

"Pete, Jenna thinks Jack has the hots for me."

"Then why doesn't he just seduce you?"

"Maybe he's playing the long game."

"Or maybe, you know, it's against GE corporate policy."

"Oo, I hadn't thought of that!" I made sure to add that to my list when I got home, a list I ended up hiding in my sock drawer after Pete moved in.

"Or maybe he doesn't want to ruin your friendship."

"Well, yeah, it would change everything."

"Do you want him?"

"Blerg no! He's a Republican."

"Then you're probably safe."

Jack and I do have a bond, but it's not romantic, despite what some people think. I'm his emergency contact, although I didn't find that out until I showed up at the hospital and saw his fiancee (now ex) and mother there. His mother sees me as daughter-in-law material, and she doesn't like the women Jack actually dates. But that's partly due to my "baby bucket." I don't think Jack wants kids though.

Would I want Jack if he wanted me? Maybe for a fling, if I did flings. I can't see living together. It would never be comfortable like this with Pete. We would get on each other's nerves. Pete and I have some annoying habits, but he doesn't try to run my life like Jack does. He just listens to me complain and gives sensible advice.

I think I was at my happiest when I was dating Floyd and living with Pete.

"It's like you've got two husbands, Liz," Jenna said, actually sounding jealous of me for a change. "Floyd for romance and Pete for domesticity. Or maybe Floyd is your piece on the side."

"Ugh." She was right though, in a way. The first time Floyd slept over, the three of us watched _Tootsie_ together. And it was always as fun to hang out with both of them as it was to hang out with them separately. Pete doesn't do these stupid male dominance games like Jack does. And he discreetly left the room and slept in my bed (all those chest hairs!) when Floyd fell asleep on my leg on the couch. When I lived with Jenna, she would flirt with my dates and potential dates. Pete is like a straight, non-campy gay best friend.

And I'd much rather stay in and eat and watch TV with him than try picking up guys with Jenna. Plus I'll get more knitting done this way.


	2. Murray

"Rhoda?!? You're kidding!"

"Did you think I was going to say Phyllis? That would be like Jenna without the cleavage." And I have enough crazy in my life already.

"Yeah, but you'd pick Rhoda over Mary?"

I shrug. "Mary seems like she'd be too high maintenance. And Rhoda was witty and wore those funky clothes." I don't add that Rhoda was probably a lot more experimental in bed.

"Fat Rhoda or thin Rhoda?"

"Well, thin Rhoda, but only because she had more self-confidence and I wouldn't have to reassure her all the time."

"Mary was insecure and she was gorgeous."

"She wasn't insecure about her looks. Just about her work and her love life, and I can deal with that."

"So you would pick Mary?"

"OK, I'm going to switch my vote to Sue Ann."

"Sue Ann?!? She'd make fun of your baldness all the time!"

"Georgette?"

"She's a dumb blonde!"

"Who would you pick?"

"Um, Gordy the weatherman."

"Interesting."

"Not because he's black. But he's the only one who wasn't married at some point, and he was smart and good-looking. And he could predict the weather."

"No wonder you're still single."

She throws a throw pillow at me and then unpauses the episode.

I wait a minute and say, "I think actually Gordy had a wife and kids."

"Oh, right."

I wait for her to make the connection to Murray, that I'm not just bald but I'm a middle-aged bald man who loves his wife but has a crush on the vibrant single woman he works with. No, not Jenna. But if Liz were capable of making that connection, she would've made it a decade ago.

Liz seems to see me as a loyal eunuch. I don't know how else to put it. And Paula knows that's how Liz sees me, so when I told her where I'd moved when she kicked me out, she wasn't jealous. She's never been jealous of Liz.

"It's not like Jenna took you in." Jenna isn't even my type, but she probably would try to seduce me if I lived with her, or at least lounge around in slinky outfits.

I'm "safe" here. And in a way, that's what I want. I don't want my marriage to be threatened, my life turned upside-down. OK, yeah, that happened when Paula found out I lied about the vasectomy, but I'm still married. I still go home and spend time with the kids. I still have sex with my wife.

"It's like you've got two wives, Pete," Frank said when he found out, and I couldn't tell if he felt jealous of or sorry for me. "Or like Paula is your wife and your mistress. And Liz is your bro I guess. Except you can't watch porn with her."

Frank wasn't entirely wrong. It's hard to easily sum up what I have with either woman. It's never been easy, even before I moved in with Liz.  


Liz vents to me and I try to make her life easier, and not just as producer. When I go home to Paula, she complains about the kids, rather than childish adults. I try to be present, reliable, for both women.

In turn, Paula offers stability, and Liz, well, it's not exactly instability. Again, she's not Jenna. But it's excitement, safe excitement. And Liz and I speak the same language, the language of television. In a different way than with Paula, we have a shared history, a shared present.

When Paula kicked me out and I asked to move in with Liz, it was partly that I just needed a place to go. But I like it here. I like hanging out with Liz. We eat, watch TV, just hang out. I didn't even mind when Floyd was around, since he wasn't an asswipe like Dennis, pardon my French. He was someone else to hang out with, and I thought he was good for her.

I did get worried when I thought he was going to sweep her off to Cleveland. But Liz loves New York and she's married to her job. No one can compete with that. I think that's why she and Jack get along so well, despite their rocky start.

Yeah, a rocky start that included firing me. By all rights, I should hate Jack, and not just because of Liz's unrequited crush on him. But I don't. I envy him of course, with all that money and hair. (Well, I have hair, but most of it not on my scalp.). But I don't feel like we're in competition. If he makes Liz happy, platonically or not, great. She'll never leave New York or _TGS_ if he's the main guy in her life.

Another weird thing about my friendship with Liz, and yes, there are dozens of weird things about our friendship, is we probably are best friends, but we've never admitted it. Jenna is officially her best friend, and Jack would like to be. (She's his emergency contact, and they've known each other only a year.) But it's me. I know that. And I tell people my wife is my best friend, because that's what you're supposed to say. But it's Liz, even if there's this huge secret at the center of our friendship.

Frank is my best guy friend, which I know doesn't make much sense. But I keep telling him things that I can't tell Liz. Not about the crush. Unlike Murray, I'm taking that one to the grave. But he's the only one who knows I'm having an affair with my wife.

"Dude, I can't decide if that's hot or pathetic."

"Both?" I suggested.

"What are you gonna do when Liz finds out?"

"Frank, I told you. Nothing is going on with me and Liz."

"Yeah, but you're doing it in Liz's bed."

"I wash the sheets afterwards."

"Yeah, but she'll freak out when she finds out."

"You're not going to tell her, are you?"

"Of course not. What if someday I want to bring a date to her place?"

Yes, I feel guilty about it, but the guilt adds to the turn-on. Paula and I lost our virginity to each other, and of course I immediately got her pregnant. Sex was getting stale with us long before she kicked me out. Then we made up after a couple months but I didn't tell Liz. Paula and I both like living apart. So we're together but not.

I kind of want to be caught. I wouldn't even totally mind getting Paula pregnant again, although we do use condoms, which I have to throw away without Liz noticing. All this risk, combined with the familiarity of my wife's body and lovemaking style, is amazing.

But I sort of feel like I'm cheating on Liz. Not that I'm supposed to be having sex with her instead, but it is a violation of our happily celibate home.

Back in February, about a week before I forgot Valentine's Day slash Paula's birthday, I almost cheated. Tracy was the devil on my shoulder, and the girl was so young and smooth and beautiful. It would've been great but meaningless. No real threat to Paula, but she would've kicked me out earlier and not necessarily have made up as soon. If ever. I couldn't risk losing my marriage over a night of fun.

But what put the brakes on wasn't Kenneth and his simplistic morality. The real angel on my shoulder, the person I wouldn't have been able to face in the morning, was out on a nondate with Jack Donaghy.

Liz never found out about my temptation. Frank did and it's another thing I've made him promise not to tell. Liz would be disappointed with and disgusted by my even considering adultery.

"Pete, I thought you were better than that. But you're like every other man." I can hear her saying that, or at least I can remember Frank's imitation of Liz saying that.

I'm not a saint. I'm not a eunuch. But when you've got a crush on a friend who's got as many sexual hangups as Liz does, you learn to pretend that the most you want to do with a woman who's not your wife is hang out and watch DVDs while she knits.


	3. First Strike

Oh my god, I slept with Pete! How could I ruin our friendship like this? And Paula will kill both of us!

I've been so restless and frustrated lately. I called him out of desperation and begged him to come over.

"OK. Should I get some you-knows?"

"Yes, please. It's been so long since the last time and I don't have any left."

An hour later he said, "Sixty-nine."

"Come on."

"OK, change it to 1969."

"Fine. Adjective?"

"Moist."

I rolled my eyes but wrote it down. Then I read the whole thing back to him. It helped a little, but I didn't get full release until we switched and it was my turn to come up with words.

This writers' strike is really hard on me. It's not like the summer hiatus. It's not a planned vacation. And I need a creative outlet. Mad Libs aren't ideal, but they're better than nothing.

Pete understands, even though writing is less central to his identity. He's mostly a producer, but he has written, especially back in Chicago. Plus he's never entirely given up on his guitar-playing.

We played Mad Libs sometimes when he lived here, but it was more casual, less intense. I didn't crave them like I did last night.

How did we get from that to my lying here in his arms, listening to his farts and snores? I feel like I should have something to blame, like red wine.

The truth is, it was late and we were sleepy and I asked him to stay. I realize that that doesn't explain how he ended up in my bed.

"Ah, my old friend," he said, patting the couch, so I knew he meant it rather than me.

"Yeah," I teased, "but it wasn't the friend you chose for your fling." I'm mostly over him and Paula having done it in my bed. It's been a couple months, and I guess I indirectly brought them back together, although I didn't know it at first. And he swears he always cleaned the sheets.

Of course, I no longer have the moral high ground, now that I've, you know, slept with Pete!

"Well, actually." 

"Blerg, Pete! I didn't need to know that!"

"It was mostly your bed."

"Oh, that makes me feel so much better."

"This couch was always rough on my back, so it's not great for sex. Or sleep."

"It's never bothered me."

His eyes widened. "You've had couch sex?"

"Of course not. I meant sleep. I'll take it tonight if you want."

"I don't want to kick you out of your own bed."

"What are we supposed to do? Share the bed?"

"Why not?"

I stared at him. "Pete!"

"Liz, we've been friends how long?"

"Eleven and a half years."

"Right. And you know you can trust me. And I would never do anything to threaten my marriage."

"Other than lie about a vasectomy."

"I mean anything with another woman."

"Well, it is a pretty big bed." And Pete seemed so harmless.

And then I woke up six hours later and he was spooning me.

He still is and I hate how great it feels. It's not a tight spoon. He's not pressed right up against me and his arm is loosely across my stomach. But I can feel his body heat, and my own body longs to relax into him. But I can't. We should not be doing this!

I know, I'm the smaller spoon. I'm not technically doing anything, except allowing this to happen, when I should be wrenching away and leaping out of bed, rather than acting like this is a lazy Sunday morning with my lover. Nerds, I can't believe I used that word without meat and pizza on either side.

I don't know if he acted deliberately. Maybe he reached for me in his sleep, thinking I was Paula, although I'm built nothing like his wife. He is asleep, right? Unless he's faking his snores. The farts sound real, although I can't smell them. Better than silent-but-deadlies.

Wait a minute. When I asked Pete, before Paula's pregnancy scare, how it was that she didn't get pregnant, he said he faked it. A man capable of that is certainly capable of faking snores and maybe farts. Or maybe he's so relaxed around me, he can sleep with me and not have any qualms about it. Maybe he thinks I'm OK with it, too. After all, I led him on by agreeing to share my bed. But that was under the condition that nothing would happen. I wouldn't exactly call this nothing!

In a way, I want to confront him, talk this all out. But I'm also tempted to quietly get out of bed and pretend this never happened. If it is just something he's doing in his sleep, he doesn't have to know. It'll be my secret.

Blerg, I wish Pete were single. Then it would just be the weirdness of sleeping with a dear old friend. But now I have to worry about Paula finding out.

And the truth is I don't want this to stop, even though I know it should. I haven't felt so cozy, despite my anxieties, since Floyd left. I don't need a man, but cuddling isn't something I can do for myself.

And it's not like we have to get out of bed and go to work. Damn writers' strike!

I don't notice when the flatulence fades. But Pete's snoring suddenly wakes him up and I hear, "Uh, good morning, Liz." His tone is embarrassed but not horrified. I'm relieved it has none of the affection that Floyd's would've had. And he's not giving me noogies, like Dennis would've.

"Um, good morning, Pete." 

He lets go of me and I immediately miss his warmth. "What time is it?" 

"I don't know." I'm about to ask what time he has to be home, and then it hits me. I turn to face him. "Pete, you stayed all night!" 

"You asked me to." 

"What's Paula going to say when you get home?" 

He shrugs. "Nothing. I told her you called me in to work to write." 

"Pete! You lied!" 

"Well, yeah, technically." 

"Geez, this is worse than the vasectomy lie." 

"Oh, I don't know about that." 

"Pete, there's a writers' strike!" 

"Paula doesn't know that." 

"She doesn't know? How can she not know?" 

"She doesn't watch much new TV. Not since we got a DVD player." 

"So you've been faking going to work all this time?" 

"Of course." 

"Why?" 

He shrugs again. "It gives me an excuse to get out of the house. I mostly go to the movies or the gym." 

"But that's in the day! You were out at night." 

"Liz, how many times have you made the writers pull an all-nighter? Or yourself fallen asleep in your office after writing all night? Paula knows that producing the show isn't a nine-to-five Monday-through-Friday kind of job." 

"But she doesn't know that the show isn't being produced right now?" 

"No. And what's the big deal? Paula was asleep most of last night, so it's not like she missed me." 

"But you slept with me!" 

He looks self-conscious. "Well, yeah. But I thought you wanted it." 

"I did but not like that. You were spooning me, Pete!" 

"You should've elbowed me in the ribs. That's what Paula does when she's not in the mood for sleep-cuddling." 

I hesitate. Do I admit that I liked it? What would that do to our friendship? Or has our friendship already been damaged by this intimacy? "Pete, look, you're a great guy and you're one of my best friends. But I feel like we've crossed a line." 

"I know. And I'm sorry." 

"It's not your fault. Well, not entirely. And it would be different if you were single, but you are very married." 

"Yeah, I know, but, Liz, it's not like we, you know, fooled around." 

"Well, no," I admit, unable to imagine forgetting myself long enough for that to happen, and yet maybe kind of able to picture it now that our bodies have touched, although lightly and fully clothed. "But it was intimate, and I feel like it's something you should only share with your wife." 

"OK. Again, I'm sorry." 

"Pete, it's OK. We were, um, very tired and we'd just had a good session of Mad Libs. We went a little crazy. But it's over now." 

"So do you want me to confess to Paula?" 

"Son of a mother, no!" 

"Well, I thought you wanted me to be more honest with my wife." 

"Not about this. No one can know about this." 

"So you're not going to call Jenna and tell her what an incredible snuggler I am?" 

"Get out of my bed! And go make me pancakes!" 

He does. I linger awhile longer, looking at the print of his body on the other side of bed. Then I get out and go take a shower in case he has any ideas about serving me breakfast in bed.


	4. Anger Management

"Let's talk about the incident. Why were you so angry that day?"  


"I wasn't angry. I was helping a friend apply for a summer job."  


"By shooting another man in the leg?"  


I can't believe I have to go to this anger management training, including this initial therapy session. I'm probably the most even-tempered person who works for _TGS_. OK, I bottle things up a lot, and not just at work, but if I were going to go postal, it wouldn't take the form of shooting an arrow at the Head of Paging. Archery requires a steady hand and concentration. Anger would've meant missing Donny's leg.  


Still, NBC always worries about lawsuits, so I know It's best to go along with this. If I really had anger issues, I'd be resisting a lot more.  
I was on the Olympic team in 1980, my freshman year of college, but thanks to that stupid peanut farmer's boycott, I didn't get to go. I'm not the Reagan fan that Jack is, but I was glad to get the chance in '84, even though I cracked under the pressure. 

My life had changed a lot in those four years, and not just that I had a hell of a lot more corporate sponsorship in '84. I went from a virgin to a young husband and father. And I'd started to accept that if I was going to make it in show business, it would have to be behind the scenes, not fronting a band.

"What kinds of things make you angry?"  


"Unfairness," I answer automatically.  


"Do you think Mr. Lawson was being unfair to Mr. Parcell?"  


"Of course."  


"And so you became violent?"  


I sigh. I think this whole thing is unfair, but so is most of life, but I don't waste my time getting angry about it. Anger doesn't make any difference.

"Look," I say wearily, "Mr. Lawson was holding Mr. Parcell against his will. So it was really defense."  


"You're very protective of your friends, aren't you?"  


"Is there something wrong with that?"  


"Yes, if it's taken to extremes. Now about Ms. Lemon."  


No, I did not come here to discuss Liz. I will get angry if the therapist goes there.  


"Why did you slap her?"  


"Excuse me?"  


"Come now, Mr. Hornberger. It was in a room full of witnesses. True, most of them admitted they'd like to slap her themselves, but you're the only one who's acted on it."  


Then it comes back to me. Back before Don Geiss's coma, Jack was his hand-picked successor and Liz was Jack's. I told her I didn't want her to abandon me. She'd be going corporate, when we'd always thought of ourselves as creative types. Then she said she'd take me with her, and she showed me my salary. I was so shocked, I slapped her.  


"She'd just offered me a lot of money."  


"Like in _Indecent Proposal?"_  


"No!" Like I'd need money to make me sleep with Liz. OK, I did sleep with her a few months ago, but it was just cuddling. Really nice cuddling, at least the part I was awake for.

"Have you ever been angry with Ms. Lemon?"  


"No, not really." Annoyed, disappointed, hurt, sure, but that's normal in a friendship. And I've seen her and Jenna get a lot angrier at each other than she and I have.  


"Not even when she neglected to tell you about her recent pregnancy scare?"

This guy is really starting to piss me off. OK, I wasn't thrilled with Liz not telling me until the crisis was over, but I sort of understood.  


See, Liz has been very celibate this past year, even by her standards. I think part of why both the spooning and her overreaction happened is that Liz hasn't shared her bed much since Floyd left. She's lonely but also wary. That I'm her old married friend made things even more awkward.  


When Floyd passed through town, I did my best to help them get back together. I even rented a wind machine, billing it to _TGS_ of course. Just so Liz could look glamorous and gorgeous.

So of course it was effing Dennis Duffy that boinked her. And when her period was late, she went through a whole range of emotions. She confided in Jenna, which is fine. I mean, Jenna is supposed to be her best friend, and they're single women around the same age. I can even see why she kept leaving messages for Jack, who's signed up with the Bush administration after being pushed aside from the GE chairmanship. Jack has presented himself as someone who can fix all of Liz's problems. Maybe he could figure out away for Liz to be a single mom and keep Dennis at a distance.  


But, yeah, it hurt that I didn't hear about any of this until it was all over and her period had come and gone. I mean, I've lived through a lot more unplanned pregnancies than any other of her friends. My entire marriage is based on them. Not that I don't love Paula, but we wouldn't have gotten married if my sperm weren't amazing archers in of themselves. 

"I understand that you once offered to impregnate Ms. Lemon." 

"So did Frank, Toofer, and Lutz!" 

"And did that make you angry?" 

I don't know if I can do two more months of this. Last hiatus was definitely a lot more pleasant.


	5. Trajectory

"How's Juno?"

"Shut up, Pete."

He's made it very clear that he does not approve of my unconventional approach to adoption. But the official channels aren't working for me. And perfect as Dr. Drew Baird is, I'm pessimistic about romance and have trouble imagining this relationship lasting even nine months. When I met Becca at the donut shop, I knew it was fate. And, OK, yes, she plays indie music on her guitar, but it's not like she owns a hamburger phone.

She's eight months pregnant and eighteen years old. She was already considering adoption when we met. I saw the brochures. But she's uncertain about the agencies, as am I after trying to do this through the usual channels. I'm hoping Becca and I can work something out without going through a third party. I just haven't told her that yet.

Pete thinks I'm using Becca, but I see it as mutually beneficial. And I do like her as a person. And she likes me. She doesn't look down on me like Cerie. Becca sees me as a cool older friend. And it's not like I'll snatch her baby and run off into the night. It'll be an open adoption.

Becca is a bright kid, but she's a kid. She's too young to raise a child, especially on her own. Her boyfriend, Tim, isn't returning her Skypes and stuff, and he's definitely too young for fatherly responsibilities.

Pete doesn't understand. When he was nineteen and got Paula pregnant, he didn't run away. He married her and has stayed ever since. And he can't relate to what I'm going through, because he's so fertile. He'll never have baby fever. I feel like Becca is my last and best chance.

...

"How's Juno?"

This time Pete's tone is gentle. Things didn't work out the way they did in the movie. But then I'm no Jennifer Garner.

"Good. The disposable cameras I recommended for the wedding came in handy when the guests visited at the hospital."

"And the baby's healthy?"

"Yeah, he is." I'd hoped Becca would at least have a girl, so she could name it after me, but instead it's Tim, Jr.

Pete thinks he was the one who convinced me to get Becca and Tim, Sr., back together. But if I wouldn't listen to Pete's common sense about how crazy I was being, why would I care about Pete's speech about once being Tim, being young and scared but then coming back to be a father? He claims he felt the same way with Paula's other four pregnancies, even though he was much older and more settled then. I think that was a factor during Paula's pregnancy scare a couple years ago. It wasn't just that she was mad at him for the vasectomy lie. I think he was scared of a sixth baby. And so he moved in with me when she kicked him out, because he didn't have to deal with anything like that at my place.

Anyway, it wasn't like Pete's words finally sunk in. It was more a matter of thinking of how warped both Jack and Frank were by their fathers abandoning them. At least Pete never leaves his kids for very long.

It'll be different when I eventually adopt, I guess through an agency. There will be no father in the picture to begin with. I'll set out to be a single mom. I mean, I'll date, but I doubt I'll ever have any serious long-term commitment.

"I'm glad it worked out for them."

"Yeah."

"And it'll work out for you someday."

"Thanks, Pete."

"You wanna go get donuts?"

I hesitate but I of course say yes.

On the way out of 30 Rock, he tells me, "Oh, by the way, I heard from Robert."

Robert is his oldest kid, much older than the rest, and the reason for Pete's marriage. There's a downward trajectory in the Hornberger family. Pete's father was a Congressman. Pete started out promisingly, but thanks to a high school DUI, several unplanned pregnancies, a peanut farmer, and just general bad luck, he's never lived up to his potential. Still, he makes enough to support his large family, including a 27-year-old son who has zero ambition. I remember Robert as a slacker teenager, and now he travels the world, Pete's checks supplemented by panhandling and street performing.

"Oh, how's he doing?"

"He sounds happy. I mean, it was a postcard, so it was hard to tell."

I shake my head. "A millennial using snail mail."

"Well, it's not like he needs instant communication." Then Pete shakes his head. "Can you imagine what his oldest son will be like?"

"I thought you said Robert was asexual." Not in the sense that I'm borderline asexual, where I think sex is over-rated, but more like he just can't be bothered to have it.

"Yeah, but he has said that he's thought about becoming a sperm donor for quick, easy money. My luck, my grandson will find me in twenty years and move into my basement."

"A sperm donor?" I murmur. I considered a sperm bank, but the Duffy men use those like ATMs.

"No, Liz, you can't have my grandchild. That would be just too weird."

"But it might be a way to reverse the Hornberger downward trajectory, with some Lemon zest."

"Sorry, Liz, if you want Hornberger sperm, you're going to have to get it through me."

"Blerg." Just for that, I'm going to make him buy me an extra donut.


	6. Farce

To think that I was eager for the hiatus to end. It wasn't bad enough that I had to go to my in-laws' farm and manage the mating of the bull and cow. I also had to listen to Paula rave about Liz's advice. I still can't believe that Liz is actually publishing a book about relationships. It started out as a cute sketch for Jenna, and now Liz and all these women are taking it seriously.

You want to talk dealbreakers? I'm seriously considering ending my best-friendship with Liz over this. After all, we've gradually been drifting apart anyway, ever since Jack came into her life. And what's the point in my being the voice of reason, if she's going to ignore my advice, including about her not giving advice?

It's not that easy though. And the truth is, I really missed Liz this hiatus. She spent most of the break working on her stupid book, and she didn't have much time to hang out. So I was looking forward to the new season starting and seeing her again, working with her again. And then Josh quit.

Jack wants us to find someone who connects with "Real America" more than Tracy and Jenna do. Yeah, that should be easy, but the performer also has to be good at sketch comedy and singing. I liked Josh as a person, and he certainly never created drama like the two stars, but he couldn't sing and his celebrity impressions turned out to be limited to what we saw in his audition. It's 2009 and there's a lot less market for Dick Cheney impressions, especially ones that are almost indistinguishable from Jay Leno and Ray Romano.

Liz and I have been sneaking around to comedy clubs and theater troupes, trying to find someone for _TGS,_ without anyone on the show finding out, because Jenna and Tracy would go ballistic. And it's frustrating in more ways than one.

"I don't know, Pete," Liz said last night. "Maybe I should just pick you."

My heart skipped a beat, which might be a health issue, but I think it had more to do with the wacky misunderstanding that I thought she was talking about her lackluster love life. After all, before she became a television sensation, soon to be a best-selling author, if I know women and Real America, she had, to take a few random examples, lost her virginity at age 25 to a professional clown, fired a man's girlfriend and then told him she was herself a fellow alcoholic, accidentally dated her third cousin, went on a few dates with a boring black man just so he wouldn't think she was racist, and then accidentally shot him, lied about owning a dog and then accidentally roofied a cute doctor, hit on a midget, sorry, little person when she thought he was a child, and thought she found her soulmate in a wealthy agoraphobic germphobe who just wanted to watch TV all day, until she discovered he was actually under house arrest for arson, tax fraud, embezzlement, and racketeering. And don't get me started on Dennis Duffy! I mean, Liz couldn't even save the show's budget with second base, and she got suspended for sexual harassment. She did look pretty hot all slutted up for that ill-fated date though.

Anyway, compared to her other love interests and other courtships, her just straight out asking me to have an affair, even if I am her old friend, her balding, very married old friend, seemed comparatively sane, especially when I'd reached Chucklehead's two-drink minimum. But after thirteen years, it sounded too good to be true. "Me?"

"Yeah, why not? You're witty and low drama. And you can sing and play guitar."

I was the original bassist for Loverboy. When I was almost eighteen, I had to make one of the toughest decisions of my life: stay in this band that was obviously bound for success or go back to America and accept the college scholarship I'd won, despite my DUI. I went with college, partly because it seemed more compatible with archery than the late-night rock-star lifestyle. Still, that summer on the road in Canada, now thirty years ago, was perhaps the most magical of my life. Not the best though. That would be a couple years ago, when I lived with Liz.

Still, she has weird criteria for picking boyfriends. I mean, it was a flattering description, and I know I'm no Tom Selleck, but she didn't say a word about my looks. OK, so I'm obviously more of The Head than The Hair, to use her and Jenna's terminology, but Dr. Drew and her cousin were Hair, so maybe she needs some Head for a change. OK, I'll rephrase that. Maybe my being more intelligent than handsome was a plus to her.

"Um, thank you, but I'll need to run this by Paula." It was bad enough sneaking around for comedy. The guilt and deception would be worse for sex. Not that we'd stand up and make an announcement in the writers' room, but I'd have to get my wife's buy-in for this. She'd probably say no, but I was willing to risk it for Liz.

"Of course. And I'll have to run it by Jack."

"Jack?" I could sort of see that. I mean, he is her best friend now and has interfered in her love life from the beginning, including setting her up on a blind date with a lesbian. (They actually hit it off, but Liz is a bi-asexual.) I don't think Jack would approve of me as Liz's lover, but you never know.

"Yeah, and sag."

"Sag?"

"Well, the Screen Actors Guild may put some roadblocks up if the producer appears onscreen. Not to mention the other unions."

"Oh, good point." End of wacky misunderstanding, without my revealing that I thought she was propositioning me. Yeah, if that was ever going to happen, it probably wouldn't be so soon after her sexual harassment rehabilitation training. Even consensual workplace romances are frowned upon by our parent company, Sheinhardt Wigs.

"Well, let's see if we find anyone better, but I wouldn't mind settling on you. After all, you're the most normal person I know."

"Thanks again." Then I went back to trying to ignore the way our knees pressed together under one of those tiny comedy club tables.

She left her wallet in my car when I drove her home. (Yes, I'd sobered up first.) So she ended up confessing to the writers, Frank the most suspicious, that we were having an affair. I was willing to play along. At least it gave us an excuse for sneaking around. Of course Paula had to walk in right as Liz said, "Pete and I are intercoursing each other."

Instead of kicking me out, Paula offered to include Liz in our lovemaking. Well, that would be an interesting threesome, but of course Liz wouldn't go for it. So she confessed to everyone about the search for a new cast member.

I've promised Paula that I won't leave New York with Liz on this search. I mean, I behaved myself when I lived with Liz, but a hotel would be different somehow.

I think of the tour from Moosejaw to Punkydoodles Corners and beyond, and I wonder what it would've been like with Liz along. I mean if she had been a lot older than eight.


	7. The New Guy

As the new guy, I've spent most of the first of what I hope will be many seasons trying to get my bearings. I know I'm probably the luckiest guy in New York who isn't named Trump. But I've had to change my name and figure out how television works, especially behind the scenes.

It's hard to believe that a year ago I was doing my robot mime act on the streets of Toronto, trying to scrape together enough money for bus fare and enough to live on in the Big Apple for a month. My family thought I was crazy, but I believed something would come along after a month, maybe a small role off-Broadway, my foot in the door. So I left Hogtown and headed South.

I'd been performing in the vicinity of 30 Rockefeller Plaza for four weeks, but I didn't think of it as a stepping stone into NBC. I may've grown up watching syndicated episodes of the Shields and Yarnell variety show, but I knew that there's little place in modern TV for mimes.

Then I had my Lana Turner moment, no, not when my daughter stabbed my boyfriend. And not even in a malt shop. But Mr. Hornberger pulled me into the building and took me to an audition.

I found out much later that I was just a pawn in the Hornberger System, an elaborate scheme where the preferred candidate of Mr. Hornberger and Ms. Lemon would be chosen by Mr. Donaghy. However, Mr. Donaghy liked me best. It would not be the last time that the _TGS_ staff would use me as a weapon against each other.

A few months ago, I was still a somewhat innocent, upbeat guy. I'd thought in T.O. I was cynical and worldly, no longer the hick from Punkydoodles Corners. But the truth is I didn't even understand sarcasm, let alone the Hapsburg-like intrigue that goes on on the sixth floor.

Take just one example, unrelated to me, other than I became the confidant because I'm still seen as an outsider. Lutz has carefully cultivated an image as a loser, just so no one will suspect he's having a torrid love affair with Sue, "the girl writer," who's not even Franco-Dutch. I asked Lutz where his Canadian girlfriend is from and he admitted she didn't exist, which is what Frank said, but then Lutz confessed about Sue. And she later confirmed it. There's no moral or legal reason they shouldn't date. They just don't want the other writers teasing them. And mockery is a major sport around here.

As for me, I've been used in a battle over how much Kenneth acts like a servant to the "stars," which I'm technically one of, and Mr. Hornberger, Pete, tried to use my singing ability against Jenna Maroney. With Kenneth, it turned out he wants to take care of Jenna and Tracy Jordan, and they want to be spoiled, and I was the one rocking the boat. As for the Christmas special, well, I figured that I'm going to be performing with Jenna for a long time, so it was best to win her over by singing off-key. And Pete is used to not getting what he wants.

Which brings me to my biggest experience as a pawn at _TGS_. A few months ago, I was sort of having a fling with Ms. Lemon. Yeah, Liz is my boss and, according to the certificate on her office wall, a rehabilitated workplace sex criminal. But I found her middle-management power sexy, plus she's got that whole hot-librarian thing going.

We never had sex though. She'd put me in costumes that turned her on, like Larry Wilcox from _CHiPs_ , and then we'd go to her office and kiss for at least an hour. We both really like kissing, and I figured she's the kind of woman who only has sex in serious relationships. So it was fun for both of us, and we didn't really have any expectations. We kept it on the down low because everyone is so gossipy here, and I didn't want HR to suspend her again.

But I did confide details to Jack, without naming names. He was probably my best guy friend, going to games and stuff. But he figured out who I was seeing and he and Liz started battling over me. I found out much later that they went through something similar with one of Liz's serious boyfriends a few years ago, a guy named Floyd. Jack wanted to hang out with him, so they competed for Floyd's attention. In my case, I liked hanging out with Jack, but it was no contest. I'm always going to pick tonsil hockey over ice hockey.

And then Jack did his winning move. He confessed to me that he was in love with Liz. Well, obviously I wasn't going to stand in his way. And I figured he had a chance with her, because he's rich and sophisticated and pretty handsome for an older man. Plus, I'd noticed that they seemed to be best friends. I mean, Jenna will say she's Liz's best friend and they do go way back. But it seems like Jack is the one Liz goes to her with her problems.

So I stepped aside and waited for Jack to confess his love. Instead he got involved with two other women and apparently is unable to decide between them.

Baffled, I went to the most sensible person at _TGS,_ and, yes, I realize that's a backhanded compliment.

I closed Pete's office door behind me, trying to ignore his kids' weird artwork, and asked, "So what's the deal with Jack and Liz?"

He sighed and said, "Sit down."

So I sat and told him about what happened during my fling with Liz. "...And now Jack doesn't have time to hang out with me. So what was the point in all that?"

"Jack and Liz have a complicated relationship."

"Like Sam and Diane or like Tony and Angela?"

"I can't really think of a television equivalent. You see, Jack feels competitive with Liz, but he also likes to mentor her. And she admires him but he also stands for everything she thinks she's supposed to hate, especially politically. And when they fight over a man, they play dirty." Then he told me about Floyd.

"Oh, I wish I'd known about that before I agreed to wear the Grizzly Adams costume."

"Look, I'm sorry you got caught in the middle, but you at least had fun while it lasted, right?"

"Of course. But what I really want to know is do they have any romantic feelings for each other?"

He sighed. "Liz probably has a crush on him, although she'd never admit it. And he's probably physically attracted to her, but not enough to do anything about it. And I think he figures since he can get hotter and cooler women than her, there's no need to settle. But they're also connected through workaholism and an inability to sustain any other relationships."

"Wow, you've given this a lot of thought, Pete."

He shrugged. "I've known Liz a long time. And It's hard not to observe what's going on in her life."

"Jenna told me Liz and Jack have the hots for each other but are afraid of being distracted from their careers."

"Well, that's another school of thought."

I got to my feet and said, "Thanks for talking to me, Pete, and setting my mind— Is that a picture of Loverboy?"

"Oh, yeah, it is."

I peered closer at the fading Polaroid photo on the wall, mixed in with Crayola aggressions against a man with no hair. "Wait, is this you? The guy with the Jewfro?"

He sighed wearily. "Yes, I was their original bassist."

"Wow, they're my mom's favorite band! She still talks about the time they came to Punkydoodles Corners."

"Oh God, if you're going to tell me your real father was in Loverboy, please know that I left town a 17-year-old virgin."

"Did you just call my mom a groupie?"

"OK, let me rephrase that."

"She went to a show at the VFW Hall. And she tried to get their autographs but they were too busy with the real groupies and the only one who would sign was— Oh God, the young one with the curly hair named Pete!"

"Um, was she a petite brunette with big glasses named Miho?"

I was so stunned all I could do was murmur, "I know a man with a wooden leg named Smith."

"What's his other leg named?" Pete murmured back.

"This is really awkward."

"For the record, she was also a 17-year-old virgin when I left town."

"And for the record, I wasn't born until 1981."

"The same year as my son Robert."

"I'm gonna go now."

He nodded and grimaced. "Good idea."


	8. Consent

Nerdburgers! I swear, Pete and I were just hanging out in my office, talking about the show and a little bit about _Star Wars,_ which we've done a million times. But this time, Paula came in, shut the door behind her and said, "I'll make this quick because I have to go pick Kyle up from the Donald Jordan Dojo. Everyone's life is getting worse, and I think the only way out of this is for you, Pete, to get Liz pregnant by any means necessary. Preferably during the hiatus, so your co-workers won't get suspicious. Honey, call me if you're not coming home tonight. Otherwise, it's Meatloaf Night." And then she left, closing the door after her.

"Thanks, Sweetie," Pete murmured. I turned my stare from the door to him. "Liz, I swear I didn't know about any of that, especially the part about the hiatus."

I put my finger to my lips and whispered, "Not here!"

"Of course not. This couch is even lumpier than the one in your apartment." I glared at him. "Oh, you mean we're not going to talk about it here. Where then? Your apartment? Or we could go to a restaurant. I don't mind eating out."

"Peter S. Hornberger, that better not be innuendo."

He put his hand on my arm to calm me, which I hate. Either he remembered that or he realized that touching me now had different connotations. He lifted his hand and said, "How about I come, I mean drop by your place at sevenish? And we can figure out dinner then."

"Fine."

He nodded, stood up, and left the room, closing the door after him. I curled up in a fetal ball around a throw pillow, hoping the cast and crew could hold off on bringing me their problems until I had processed all this, but when I left three hours later, interrupted only once each by Jenna, Tracy, Lutz, and Subhas the janitor, I was still as confused as before.

I thought about texting Pete to forget about coming over, but it seemed like we should talk this out. Not just because of the randomness of what his wife said, but also because in some ways he's my best friend. And obviously I was not yet ready to tell Jack or Jenna.

I stopped by Pete's office before I left, but he was already gone. I felt strangely disappointed, although I'd probably see him in an hour.

When I got home, I snacked a little to deal with my mixed emotions, but I didn't pig out since I didn't know what we were doing about dinner. I didn't think he'd expect me to cook under the circumstances, but I couldn't think of any restaurant private enough to discuss this. Maybe we could order in, like we did sometimes when he lived with me.

God, those were such simple, happy times, at least during the hiatus! And what happened to Paula not knowing about hiatuses? That was just one of many questions I had for Pete, whether or not he had the answers.

At 7:01, I heard a knock and then a male voice saying, "Knock knock."

I recognized Pete's voice of course, but when I went to the door, instead of opening it immediately, I said, "Who's there?"

"Pizza."

"Pizza who?"

"Pizza very fertile guy."

I yanked open the door and snapped, "Get in here!" He was carrying a pizza box and I wolfed down a slice before he set the box on the coffee table and himself on the other end of the couch. "You want some? Some pizza I mean."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Maybe later. I had some meatloaf earlier."

I almost said something about home cooking vs. eating at my place, but I stopped myself. Instead, I asked, "Did you talk to Paula?"

"A little. The kids were around, so you know." He shrugged and sighed.

"Pete, I don't know where to start."

"Eat another slice and then you can read me your list."

I blushed. He knows me very well. I ate another slice and then got the notepad I took home from work and then added to on the subway. I cleared my throat and said, "I'm going to skip over the part about the dojo." Not that that was totally unrelated to me and Pete. Sometimes I'll get suspicions about someone and, instead of being the voice of reason, Pete will indulge me, as when Tracy's supposed illegitimate son (who's actually older than Tracy) seemed to be scamming him, but it turned out Tracy was being consensually scammed. Most recently, Pete embraced the opportunity to help me spy on Jenna's new boyfriend, wearing a fedora and a leather jacket, and calling himself Dallas. He didn't even seem to be weirded out that Paul is a Jenna Maroney impersonator. Pete was just enjoying the mild intrigue.

"That's fine," Pete said now. "The less I think about my scariest son becoming a Ninja, the better."

I cleared my throat again. "Paula said, 'Everyone's life is getting worse.' Who's everyone?"

Pete shrugged. "Well, probably not Tracy's or Jenna's. He's happy that his wife is having a daughter, and he's working towards his EGOT. Jenna's career is fine, or not any worse, and she seems really happy with Paul. Of course, we don't know what will happen to _TGS_ with the Kabletown buyout, but it's just a little variety show on a commercial network. We fly under the radar most of the time."

He'd almost distracted me into talking about the show, but I had to resist. I ate half a slice before continuing. "What about Jack? The buyout, and Don Geiss's death, have hit him really hard. He's having trouble making big decisions, including between Nancy and Avery." I'd of course shared Jack's dilemma with Pete.

He laughed scornfully. "Oh, yeah, poor Jack Donaghy! He still pulls down a bigger salary than 95% of the country, and he's torn between two gorgeous, intelligent women."

I didn't know what to say, partly because Pete sounded so bitter against Jack, and partly because I was aware that Pete's romantic situation was not entirely different from Jack's. Not that either Paula or I is gorgeous, and not that Pete is torn between us, but come on!

Now he cleared his throat. "And the writers' lives aren't getting noticeably worse. I mean, who can tell with Lutz? But he seems OK."

"Does she think my life is getting worse?"

"Well, you have to admit it hasn't been a great year for you. Especially, um, romantically."

He was right. I haven't had a serious boyfriend since Dr. Drew and the only sex I've had was a one-night threeway with James Franco and his Japanese body pillow. And now there's an annoying Englishman named Wesley Snipes who's trying to convince me that we're "settling soulmates." Looking for Mr. Right does get frustrating, but I'm not ready to give up, am I?

"How much of my love life does Paula know about?"

"No details. Every once in awhile, she asks if you're seeing someone. And usually I tell her no."

"Oh. Does she think your life is getting worse?"

He sighed. "I don't know. I don't tell her all my problems. She's got enough to deal with with the kids, and I don't want her to think I blame her."

I quietly asked, "Do you think your life is getting worse?"

"Not exactly. I mean, it's the same life it's been for a long time. Same wife, same kids, same job the past almost four years. It's not a bad life. Not the one I imagined as a teenager, but that's to be expected. It's just stale and predictable."

"Pete, I don't think your wife recommending that you impregnate one of your oldest friends is stale or predictable."

"Oh, I'm sure it's been done in a Jennifer Aniston romantic comedy or two."

I remembered the weekend we had a romcom marathon, snarking the whole way through. Then I looked down at my notepad. "She knows about hiatuses."

"You skipped over the part about, um."

I looked up. "I know what I skipped, Peter."

"OK. I did actually ask her about this part, and she said she's not stupid, but she figures I need breaks from work and family life sometimes. I told her nothing ever happened when I hung out with you."

"Except the spooning."

"Yeah, well, I didn't want to muddy the issue. She said she knows she can trust you, which is part of why she made her suggestion. And then Kaleb came in and the subject changed to Pokémon."

"He's already into Pokémon? He was an Elmo fan just three years ago. They grow up so fast!"

"Not fast enough."

"Pete."

"Liz, you know I love my kids, but they sap my life force."

"So therefore you want to have an affair with me? Or therefore you don't think I should have a kid, especially with you?"

He reached over and I thought he was going to try to hold my hand, but instead he took my notepad. He read aloud, " 'By any means necessary.' That could be artificial insemination. It could mean that I introduce you to Mr. Right, or at least a suitable father to your future children."

"Or it could mean we have an affair."

"Is that what you want, Liz Lemon?"

"I don't know, Pete. I'm not used to thinking about you that way."

"Because I'm bald?"

"No, because you're married! You've been married longer than I've been menstruating."

"That's one way to look at it."

"OK, how about looking it at it this way? When I lost my virginity, you were the father of a teenager. And when I met you the next year, your wife started having a baby every two or three years."

"So you're saying that you're responsible for most of Paula's pregnancies?"

"No, I believe they were all accidents. But maybe on some level, Paula felt threatened by me. Or more likely Jenna. And being the good little fertile wife was a way to hold onto you. Or to drive you away, since you feel trapped by fatherhood. OK, that theory needs some work." I gestured for my notepad, but he instead handed me a piece of pizza. I ate it of course, but more slowly.

While I chewed, Pete said, "I don't know what Paula's thinking or has thought. I don't know if she knows about my putting thumbtacks in my neck and hands just to feel something. But I think she loves me enough to risk me having a baby with you."

"Or maybe she thinks you'd run off, like every time she got pregnant."

"Maybe she knows my caveman brain would kick in if your baby had the Hornberger forehead."

"Oh God, Pete, on my little badger face! That poor kid!"

"You'd love it anyway."

"Yeah, I would," I said quietly, letting myself imagine it for a moment. Then I snapped back to reality. "Pete, this is crazy."

"So?"

So much for my rock of sanity, who admittedly has been close to a crackup the past few months, shoplifting and consensually getting punched by hobos being among the warning signs. "Well, skipping over the conception for the moment, how would parenthood even work? I'd feel like your baby mama!"

He shrugged. "Let's say that you got pregnant that time Floyd was visiting a couple years ago."

"But I didn't sleep with Floyd. I slept with Dennis."

"Humor me, Liz."

"I'll try."

"Now, Floyd is a nice guy, and even though he's now marrying another woman—"

I groaned, thinking of that. To make things worse, Wesley is my date to the wedding.

"Focus, Liz. You would've been fine raising the baby alone and giving Floyd visiting rights."

"Unlike Dennis."

"Exactly. And this is the same thing, except that you and I are much better friends than you and Floyd, and we don't have a lot of baggage."

"Yet. Wait until after our affair."

"So you want to have an affair?"

"I don't know, Pete. Artificial insemination is so cold and scientific."

"And artificial?"

"Well, yes, and the success rates are lower than with, um, natural insemination."

"Plus natural is more fun."

"I guess."

"Liz, before this conversation goes any further, I need to know how much you hate sex."

"I don't hate it. I don't even dislike it."

"But you don't love it?"

"God no! Do you?"

He sighed. "Sometimes. Not as much as I used to. But I don't love anything as much as I used to."

"God, Pete, that's the saddest thing I ever heard."

"In fourteen years of friendship? I doubt that.

I laughed and then I leaned over and kissed him.


	9. Reassessment

Liz is kissing me! And she initiated it! That's almost as unbelievable as my wife giving me permission to "cheat" but I can't just relax and enjoy it.

Paula's offer really did catch me off guard, but I could tell she meant it, because it wasn't like the time she invited Liz to share our lovemaking. That was in front of all the writers, while this time she made sure to say it in relative privacy.

I expected Liz to immediately dismiss the idea, like the time three years ago, when I offered to get her pregnant. But that was before she had to wait so long with no progress towards adoption. And it was before several more disastrous relationships and attempts at relationships. She's almost forty now and probably more desperate than ever.

But why not artificial insemination? Why even consider an "affair"? I'm perfectly willing, as I was three years ago, to provide sperm in a non-adulterous manner. I want Liz to be happy, and if a baby is what she wants, then I'll help with that. OK, yes, it might be weird to know that it'll be my kid, too, but it's not like I'll be responsible for it. I'll be more like an uncle.

She backs away. She looks hurt and confused as she says, "You're not kissing back."

I want to comfort her, but I say, "I don't want your pity, Liz."

"You think I kissed you out of pity?"

"Well, I did just say something really pathetic."

"I kissed you out of affection. And because you made me laugh. And because I wondered what it would be like to kiss you."

"Oh. And you're not going to just give me pity sex?"

"If we have sex, which I'm still thinking over, I'd be the one using you. I'd be getting a baby out of it, and you'd just be having a little fun."

I hesitate. I can't tell her how I feel about her, although maybe she's guessed my crush on her by now. No, if she knew I have feelings for her, she'd never go through with this. On the other hand, I don't want her to think it's just sex to me.

She misinterprets my hesitation and says, "Not that I'm much fun in bed. But you might enjoy the novelty."

I shake my head. "No, I'm sure I'll enjoy it, if it happens. But, Liz, let's face it, I'm not even your type."

"Do I have a type? I think I've dated a wide variety of men."

"None like me, and I don't just mean being married."

She looks at me, assessing me. I feel self-conscious, but I sort of like it. Even if her verdict is that she still can't see me that way, at least she's considering it.

"Well?" I eventually ask.

"It's interesting. You're more than the sum of your parts."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Well, besides your, um."

"Massive forehead?"

"Yeah, that. And, um." She blinks.

"Shifty eyes?"

"Uh huh. Your mouth is probably too wide."

"Liz, you're making me really glad I've been off the market for almost thirty years."

"Let me finish. When you smile, even just a little, your face has such incredible warmth. I think that's why I started confiding in you, trusting you. And It's an intelligent face."

"Thank you. But is it a sexy face?"

She sighs. "For the purposes of conception, I don't know that I want a sexy face. Sexy people always let me down, one way or another. I need someone who'll be a good absentee father to my baby."

"Then I'm your man," I say cheerfully, trying not to show my disappointment.

"Thank you," she says and kisses me again.

This time I kiss back. I guess we're sealing the deal, although I'm still not clear on the method. She isn't either. But I try to focus on the kiss rather than the conception.

I remember Danny telling me that despite Liz's thin lips, she has a big tongue and knows how to use it. Yes, it was weird to hear details of their passionately asexual fling, especially months after the fact. I wasn't exactly jealous. I've seen Liz go through too many relationships for that. To be honest, it's kind of a shame it didn't go anywhere, because he's a nice guy. Yeah, a little young for her, but not as bad as the sandwich kid.

Anyway, he was right, she's a great kisser. Our first real kiss is tentative and gentle, a sweet little experimental kiss, but I can believe Danny was happy with hours of French-kissing her. Her lips may be thin, but they're soft and warm.

"That was nice," she says afterwards.

"Yeah," I say. She's going to have to take the lead for the rest of this. Even though I'm the married one, she's going to have to set the boundaries. Not just because she's the woman and the one with intimacy issues, but because I've been taking her orders professionally for almost fourteen years.

"I think that Paula is right that we shouldn't get seriously involved until the hiatus. Besides wrapping up the season, I've got to attend three weddings in one day."

First Liz will speak at Floyd's wedding, and then she'll be a bridesmaid for Cerie, and she'll end the day as Grizz's "best man."

"Are you still going to Floyd's wedding with Wesley?"

"Blerg, I've got to break off our engagement! Without telling him about you."

"Can't you just say you're going to become a single mom and you can't focus on a husband right now?"

"I guess. And it's true in a way, although it's not like I'm already pregnant."

"Yeah. Um, Liz, not to pressure you, but how are we doing this?"

She sighs. "I don't know. It's weird changing how I think of you. Not bad weird, but different. I may not be able to go through with sex. But if you still are up for artificial, then I'd like that."

"OK."

"We can make out a little before the hiatus, unless that would make things too awkward at work."

"Well, it might be a little awkward anyway, having talked about all this. But what about in the Fall?"

"You want to wait until the Fall?"

"No, I mean will it be weird facing everyone when you're pregnant?"

"Oh. Sort of. But they won't know who the father is."

"What about the Hornberger forehead?"

She sighs again. "I don't know. Maybe I'll say I went to a sperm bank after all. Or we'll say you donated sperm artificially, whether or not you do. But I can't really know how I'll feel then. Maybe I'll be so happy to be pregnant, I won't care what people think."

I know I should shut up. This is no time to play devil's advocate. If I play my cards right, I'll have sex with Liz, more than once. But I'm also one of her best friends and I want what's right for her, and I don't know that that's me, even on a temporary basis.

Then she says, "Are you OK with this?"

"What?"

"I mean, yeah, Paula gave you permission, but I wouldn't be your first choice. And I'm you're weird single friend, probably the least sexy woman you know."

I stare at her like she's crazy. I mean, I know she has low self-esteem, particularly about her appearance, but come on. The women I know include Kathy Geiss and _TGS's_ cat wrangler.

She misses my stare since she's looking down. "And I've got intimacy issues, so it's not going to be a carefree roll in the hay. I tried, with James Franco and his body pillow, but that's just not me."

She needs to be comforted, so of course I ask, "Did you get tested after him? Them?"

She looks up in annoyance. "Yes, Pete. I'm safe."

"Not even mouth herpes?"

"Jeez, Pete, if this is your idea of sweet—"

I cut her off with a kiss. This time we throw ourselves into it and it's deep and delicious. We're probably both still very aware of the weirdness of doing this with a long-term platonic friend, but at least on my side that makes it feel a little naughty. And her tongue is indeed enthusiastic about something besides eating and talking.

Afterwards, I stroke the brown hair that almost always has a bad day and I murmur, "My little baby mama."

Liz Lemon, whose laughter is most often snorting, giggles.


	10. What Ifs

It's 8:50 a.m. the first Monday of the hiatus and Pete is due to arrive at my apartment in ten minutes, while Floyd, Cerie, and Grizz are off on their respective honeymoons. I didn't catch the bouquet at any of the weddings, or even try to. Jenna got the one at Cerie's wedding and she and Paul joked, or maybe weren't joking, about the gowns they'd wear.

This is not a honeymoon. The first hiatus with Pete was closer to that, although platonic. We spent hours together and ignored the world outside. This is more of an experiment, to see if we'll have a baby together, and if so, how.

Pete is a really good kisser, better than Danny, although he's kissed fewer people. (Danny's mother among them, as I discovered when "the moms" were on the Mother's Day special of _TGS_. But Pete swears it didn't go any further than kissing.) I never thought about kissing him until Paula made her suggestion, because he just wasn't in the eligible category. And even now, I have moments when I think how weird it is that I've kissed Pete, in a different way than when we spooned, because that was sort of an accident, while kissing was, is, a conscious choice.

We didn't kiss at work the past two weeks and I don't think we will. It's not like when I was sneaking around with Danny and not entirely minding when Jack found out, due to black light and robot makeup. I don't want Jack, or anyone, to know about Pete, at least not till I know myself what this is.

I thought things would be different around Paula, like when I saw her at Grizz's wedding, but it was surprisingly normal. I don't know what Pete has told her. Maybe she doesn't want details. Not that there are many details yet. Nothing pregnancy-inducing anyway.

Pete and I decided that we'll explore this Monday through Friday, 9 to 5. Like he was going to work, although that's seldom our work schedule. I don't know if his kids know about the hiatuses. Robert aside, they're still pretty young. I try not to think about what they'd think about their daddy having a baby with someone other than Mommy.

I'm not a home-wrecker. I don't want to take Pete away from his family. Even him spending time with me is just a little break from them, not an abandonment like Jack's father or Tracy's.

And I want kids, well, at least one kid, of my own. If Pete is the father, I won't ask for anything emotionally or financially. I can do this on my own. I mean, Pete will still be in my life as a friend, and he can of course visit our kid any time he wants.

If this happens. I think I want it to. But I'm still not sure how.

If I could get pregnant through kissing, as I thought when I was a little girl, then it would be so simple. Just swap spit with Pete for a couple weeks and then, boom, with child. But this is going to involve getting a different fluid from Pete and that is a big leap for me, whether natural or artificial.

And let's say it's artificial. Do we go back to being platonic, not even kissing, in order to keep this less complicated? And do I take a much longer time to get pregnant, when I don't have as much time as I did when we met, or even when he first offered to get me pregnant?

It's hard not to think that I could sleep with Pete just once and get pregnant instantly, like Paula did in '80. Except that I'm older and self-supporting and totally want a baby, while she was understandably ambivalent.

And then what if I don't get pregnant the first time? Would I keep sleeping with Pete until I did? I mean, I'm not as fertile as Paula, so the Hornberger sperm might face more of a challenge.

And what if, this is embarrassing to think, what if I like sex with Pete, I mean really like it? He's obviously not the sexiest man I've ever kissed, but he is one of the best kissers. And he's always been a good listener and sometimes we're eerily in sync. Not that that would necessarily make him a good lover, but he'll probably be much better at it than Drew, because Pete has definitely not lived in a bubble where everyone tells him how good he is at everything so he never has to try.

Or what if I don't like sex with Pete? I mean, I think sex is over-rated anyway, but what if Pete is bad at it? I don't think he'll be terrible. He must've learned something in almost thirty years, but he himself has said his sex life is mostly boring, and it has been with one person. Or maybe he'll do stuff that Paula likes but I don't. And then not only do I have an experience that I don't enjoy, which might not even result in pregnancy, but I'll have had it with Pete. And he's one of my best friends, so I won't want to hurt his feelings by telling him it's bad. Or maybe he'll be able to tell it's bad and then he'll feel bad that he couldn't pleasure me.

Or it might be so-so. I mean, I usually don't come. (Nerds, I hate that word, but "reach orgasm" is even worse.) And maybe Pete would do an adequate job but not adequate enough, and he'd feel bad about that. Dennis never did, but then he was usually asleep afterwards. And sometimes I'd lie to him, which was easy, since it's never occurred to Dennis, in a different way than Drew, that he's not fantastic at everything he does. Well, OK, maybe he's expressed moments of self-doubt, but usually just to try to win me back. When Dennis had me, he called me dummy, which I guess I deserved.

Anyway, I guess Pete and I could have bad or meh sex and be honest about it and just give up on it, especially if he got me pregnant on the first or an early try. It'd be incredibly awkward, but our friendship would probably survive it. But good sex, hell, maybe even great sex? Could I easily walk away from that?

Pete knocks at 9:01. This time I don't ask who it is. I just look through the peephole, see Pete's chin, which as usual, no matter what time of day it is, is a little stubbly, and let him in. I've never consciously thought about it before, but Pete must be a good nine inches taller than I am. (Jack is a little shorter than Pete but much more imposing, physically and otherwise.)

"Good morning, Liz. What are we working on today?"

It's how he sometimes greets me at 30 Rock, that is if there's no crisis to deal with.

I shut and lock the door behind him, including the chain. I really don't want this to be a day that anyone, especially Dennis, who I suspect might still have a copy of my key, drops by. "Let's just sit on the couch and watch TV for awhile."

"You insatiable bitch!"

I roll my eyes.


	11. Conference

As Liz and I sit on the couch and watch TV, part of me wants to just vege out, to remember how her place was once a refuge from my family. But another part of me feels like I'm Jack, not Donaghy but my thirteen-year-old son who is interested in girls but doesn't have a clue what to do with them. Do I put the moves on Liz or wait for a signal? And is it even called "putting the moves on" anymore? Not that Liz would know. I mean, her dating experience is obviously much more current than mine, but her vocabulary isn't.

I can't focus on what we're watching, even though it's a _MILF Island_ rerun. And then Liz snuggles up against me, and I really lose my concentration.

Not that we've never touched before, but always, even when we spooned, I knew it didn't mean anything. Now I'm not sure what it means.

"Is this OK?"

"Yeah," I say a little breathlessly. I cautiously stroke her hair. "Is this?"

"It's nice."

We sit like this for awhile, getting used to the unfamiliar, with each other, contact. I just hope I don't get an erection too soon and scare her off. The scantily clad women in their 30s on the TV screen don't help.

After awhile, she turns in my arms and kisses me on the mouth. I risk embracing her as our mouths move together. I want her, but I've wanted her for a long time. I'll try to be patient. And, yeah, the kissing is great in itself.

I'm no longer paying any attention to the TV, even though this is an old episode I had to miss because I was trapped under a vending machine. It's the finale from a couple seasons ago, the Debra vs. Deborah days. I'll catch it some other time.

Liz and I are exploring each other's mouths with our tongues and her petite body is pressed up against my lankiness. I no longer have a Jewfro or virgin hormones, but I feel like I'm back in Punkydoodles Corners, doing first base that verges on second with a girl named Miho. Neither of us knew it at the time, but I couldn't have knocked her up even if I tried. Miho was actually infertile and Jack Baker, later renamed Danny by Jack Donaghy, was adopted, as he found out during the moms' special of _TGS._

I assume Liz is fertile, although she's never been tested. Yeah, her only pregnancy scare was chip-induced, but she doesn't have sex very often and it's usually protected. If we had non-reproductive sex, I obviously wouldn't mind, but she'd be disappointed. Still, I'm clearly not going to bring up that possibility right now.

And then I can feel myself getting hard and I hope it won't scare her away.

She shifts so that her thin, wet lips are against my ear and whispers, "Are you reacting to me or the TV?"

I risk putting my palm against the front of the Jar Jar Binks T-shirt I bought as a gag gift for her thirtieth birthday. "Well, you know how I love television, Liz."

"Do you want to touch my worst quadrant?"

It takes me a moment to translate the Donaghy-speak in my head. When Jack, our boss, not my son, heard that Liz offered second base to save the _TGS_ budget, that was his main concern. I'm not a breast man in the sense of size. I notice big ones of course, who doesn't? But I can be more turned on by well-displayed cleavage, whether on svelte Cerie nearly every day, or now and then on Liz.

Anyway, I don't say no to Liz's offer. I say, "I promise not to sue you for harassment."

"Good, because that could really complicate the impregnation process."

"Oh, yeah, talk dirty to me, Baby!"

Her laughter breaks off into a gasp that melts into a sigh as I move both hands under her T-shirt. I undo her bra and then move both hands around to the front to cup her breasts. Her nipples harden for me and I grin.

She starts French-kissing me as she sits on my lap, not playing with but not avoiding my erection. I stroke and squeeze her breasts, from cleavage to nipples and back again, and sometimes just hold a soft firm boob in each hand, grateful for second base and trying not to think too much beyond this.

At some point, she takes a moment to mute but not turn off the TV, so I still see it peripherally. Until she kneels next to me, still on the couch and says, half shyly and half hungrily, "Pete, would you mind, um?"

"Sucking your tits? Not at all, Liz."

"Blerg, Pete, can you rephrase that?"

"Is it that I'm talking dirty or that it's me?"

"Both."

I sigh, but I say, "Liz, I need to take a conference with your chest."

She says, "That's worse!" But she does take off her T-shirt and bra, exposing a very appealing quadrant.

And then I suck her tits. I suck the tits of one of the most uptight women in Manhattan and I suck them like she's one of the most uptight women in Chicago and the tits are a decade younger and perkier. Sucking a lemon has never been sweeter.

The sounds she makes are equally surprised and pleased. Every time she says my name, it's like she wants to tell me she didn't think I'd be this good, but then she thinks better of it and doesn't insult me. This adds to my enjoyment, being the dark horse of her—partners, boyfriends, lovers? I don't know what term she'll use for me now. My father the congressman would call her my mistress, because things were simpler for his generation.

When she finally turns off the TV, after blocking my view of it with her torso, I know things are really getting serious.


End file.
